


dye my pale skin

by hapakitsune



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, Chris let his hand rest on the back of Mark's neck and Mark immediately slumped, nearly collapsing over his keyboard. Chris yanked his hand back as if he had been shocked and it took Mark almost a full half hour to start thinking straight again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dye my pale skin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.livejournal.com/) prompt 'oral fixation' and fits [this prompt](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/8388.html?thread=15861956#t15861956) on the meme. Heed the rating, oh my god. This is sort of the prequel to something else that I have planned. Dedicated to [](http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/profile)[thisissirius](http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/) who is lovely and having a difficult time of it lately. Title is from Charlotte Sometimes.
> 
> Chinese translation [here](http://www.mtslash.com/viewthread.php?tid=31901&page=1&extra=#pid768926).

"Do we really have to do this?" Mark asked when Chris announced that they were attending a charity fundraiser the next week.

"Since it's a charity we contribute to, yes," Chris said. He was rifling through Mark's small closet with an irritated expression on his face. "Don't you own _anything_ nice?"

"Define nice," Mark said irritably.

"Not a hoodie." Chris sighed and closed the closet door. "We are going to have to go shopping."

A cold shiver of horror went down Mark's spine. "No," he said instantly. "I'm not going."

"If you go to the tailor –" Chris started, frowning.

"I don't need to go to the tailor," Mark said immediately. He decided to back down a bit and compromise, since he knew Chris would bug him about it until he agreed anyway. "We'll just go to the Stanford Mall."

"You're ridiculous," Chris said flatly. "An off-the-rack suit will never fit as well as one you get tailored to your measurements."

"I don't _care_ how it fits," Mark said irritably.

"You might not, but other people do," Chris said tartly. "I know you think appearances are all bullshit, but keep in mind that you are twenty-two years old and not everyone takes us seriously."

"That's their problem," Mark said stubbornly.

"Yes," Chris said. "But it's a mark of _respect_ for the cause we're supporting, Mark. You can understand that, right?"

Mark looked at Chris, annoyed, but he couldn't work himself up to say something cutting. Chris had always been the most difficult one of his friends to intimidate; he could stand toe to toe with Mark and cheerfully eviscerate his character with no trace of remorse (although later he would inevitably apologize). The problem was, of course, that Chris was by far the most perceptive person Mark knew and he could easily pick out Mark's few hidden insecurities with ease. Neither did he have any compunctions about using these insecurities against him when the need arose. He was, Mark thought grumpily, the perfect head of PR.

"Fine," said Mark. "But I'm not going to enjoy it."

"I could care less," Chris said.

\----

Mark scowled at his reflection and said, "I don't know how it's supposed to fit."

"If you'll just let me take you to a tailor –" Chris began, exasperated.

"We're not doing that," Mark said flatly.

"Well, then let me see," Chris said and he yanked open the door to the changing room. Mark glared at him and folded his arms over his chest. Chris sighed and tugged Mark's arms away. "Stand still."

Something in his voice, a kind of icy steel, made Mark's spine go rigid. Chris made a pleased noise and absently smoothed his hands along the lines of the shirt and pants, tugging the fabric to lie straight. Mark stood very still, skin prickling as Chris's hands briefly touch his calf, his stomach, the back of his neck. He closed his eyes. When Chris finally stepped back, Mark let out a breath and opened his eyes.

Chris didn't seem to have noticed that anything was wrong. He was looking Mark over critically, taking in the way the suit fell. "I suppose it's all right," he said doubtfully. "At least you don't look like a slob anymore."

"Prada," Mark muttered. Chris snorted and reached out to fix Mark's collar. Mark froze, breath rushing out of him.

Chris also froze, his fingertips just brushing the skin at the hollow of Mark's throat. Mark wondered if he could feel the rapid beating of his heart. Chris slid his hand lightly along to the back of Mark's neck and Mark shivered. Chris's fingers were cool, gentle, and very gentle against his skin. He was barely touching him, but Mark was acutely aware of Chris's touch.

Mark struggled to suck in a breath. His eyes felt heavy and he felt himself sway towards Chris. "I," he breathed, blinking slowly. Chris rubbed his thumb along Mark's hairline, then dropped his hand.

"You should go to a tailor," he said in a thick, slightly hoarse voice. His cheeks were flushed, Mark noted. Chris cleared his throat and continued, softly, "You would only have to be measured once, and then you could just order new suits whenever you needed them."

"That's," Mark tried to say, but his mouth was dry. Chris's gaze was fixed on his face and, to his horror, Mark felt his face grow hot. "All right," Mark mumbled.

"I'll take you," Chris said. His voice was still soft, hardly more than a whisper. "We can go to the tailor I use."

Mark swallowed hard. Up close, Chris's freckles stood out against his pale skin and his pale eyelashes were long. "I," Mark said blankly, then, "Yes. Yes, we can – we can go."

Chris nodded slowly, his lips curving into a small smile. "Good," he said and Mark went limp, relaxing all over.

They looked at each other for a long, strained moment. Then Chris nodded and left the dressing room. Mark unbuttoned the shirt with shaking fingers and tried to ignore his erection, straining at the front of the dress pants. He folded the suit haphazardly over the hangar and changed into his t-shirt and shorts. He took the hangar out and met Chris's eyes.

"Should I buy this one?" Mark asked quietly. Chris's gaze flicked down and Mark resisted the urge to move the clothes in front of his crotch.

"I don't think so," said Chris, "unless you like it."

"God, no," Mark said and Chris laughed. It broke the weird tension that had fallen between them and Mark went to put the suit back.

In the car, Mark leaned against the door and drummed his fingers against the glass in time to the music Chris played. He didn't recognize the song; but then, he rarely did. Chris tended to like bands Mark had never heard of.

Chris gave Mark a slightly despairing look. "I wish you weren't wearing shorts," he muttered before dragging him inside the shop. The sales clerk greeted Chris affectionately before turning his gaze on Mark.

"Oh, my," she said faintly. "That is –"

"Sad," agreed Chris. "He needs a couple of suits. Nothing too flashy."

"No, of course not," the sales clerk said. "Well, better get started." She gestured an assistant over and they manhandled Mark over to a full-length mirror. Mark stepped up onto the short box that they provided and waited while they paced around him.

Chris watched him, eyes half-lidded. Mark tried to glare at him, but his heart just wasn't in it. The assistant whipped out a tape measure and started taking his measurements. The sales assistant – whose name was Ekaterine – asked about his favorite colors and showed him fabric samples, distracting Mark. When he looked up again, Chris had wandered off to look at some of the display suits.

\-----

Mark tried not to think about the strange shopping trip over the course of the next couple of weeks, though occasionally Chris would come by his desk to ask something and there would be this strange – tightness to the air. Once, Chris let his hand rest on the back of Mark's neck and Mark immediately slumped, nearly collapsing over his keyboard. Chris yanked his hand back as if he had been shocked and it took Mark almost a full half hour to start thinking straight again.

The suit arrived a few days before the event and Mark was pleased to see that it was a neutral grey and the shirt was simple and white. He took it home where it sat in his closet, the garment bag looking out of place next to the ragged hoodies and cargo pants.

On the night of the charity dinner, Mark got dressed as neatly as possible, but he was still struggling with his tie when Chris arrived to pick him up. Chris took one look at him and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Honestly, you and Dustin are _hopeless_ ," he said. "Come here."

Mark went, though there was a part of him that felt very unwilling to put himself underneath Chris's nimble fingers again. They were roughly the same height, so Mark found himself staring at the spot between Chris's eyebrows as he tied Mark's tie. Chris let his fingers rest for a moment on the knot of the tie before stepping back.

"Ready?" he asked quietly. Mark allowed himself a short nod and fell into step behind Chris.

The charity dinner turned out to be as awful as Mark had anticipated. The conversation was dull and the food was ridiculous. Chris seemed to be enjoying himself, from what Mark could tell, but Dustin, who was wearing a black suit with a green shirt, looked just as miserable as Mark felt.

Mark found himself sneaking looks at Chris every chance he got. He hadn't noticed Chris's suit before, but he now took in the dove grey jacket, the pale blue shirt. Chris looked fresh and bright, his face animated as he spoke to the other guests. Mark's fingers twitched.

Chris came by his seat later and laid a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Mark," he murmured, leaning down to speak into Mark's ear. "You look uncomfortable."

"I am," Mark said stiffly.

"I have a room upstairs," Chris said, and he slipped a hotel key card underneath Mark's plate. "Four thirty-one. Go upstairs and wait for me." He stroked his first two fingers down Mark's neck. "If you're so inclined."

Chris stepped away to return to his conversation with a tall woman with close-cropped black hair. Mark looked down at the key card, then put it into his pocket. He caught Dustin's eye by accident and saw that Dustin was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"What was that?" hissed Dustin.

"Nothing," muttered Mark. "I'll talk to you later." He got to his feet and went to find the elevators. He ripped off his tie once he was inside. He found Chris's room and let himself inside. He wasn't sure what Chris wanted him to do, but Mark knew he would do anything Chris asked.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, wanting to please someone else. Yet out of everyone Mark had met, Chris was one of the few that made Mark want to try harder. Chris was kind and polite, but his respect was hard-won, his friendship even more so. Mark thought that Chris's affection must be even more difficult to secure.

Mark sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. After about a minute, Chris came inside the room. He somehow looked taller and more imposing than usual. He looked down at Mark, mouth pressed in a line, and then asked, "Do you know why I asked you here?"

Mark wetted his lips and rasped, "Yes." He would not admit that he had done some covert research once he had realized what Chris's presence did to him, nor would he admit the way his face had burned at the thought of Chris doing – well, anything, really.

"And you understand what's going to happen," Chris said. He waited for Mark's nod before saying, "Kneel."

Mark slid off the bed onto his knees, hands shaking. Chris walked to him and picked up Mark's tie. He looked at it, then put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He gently urged Mark's own jacket off before stepping even closer.

Chris said, "Mark," his voice crisp. Mark looked up, blinking. "You need to pick a safeword," Chris said, blushing a little. Mark was heartened by this visible sign that Chris was just as thrown by the situation as he was.

"So do you," Mark said after a moment, voice faint.

Chris stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Hickory," he said, a slightly twisted smile on his face.

"Exeter," Mark replied promptly. Chris's smile became real then, and he dropped his hand to rest heavily on the crown of Mark's head. Mark leaned forward and pressed his face to the hollow of Chris's hip, breathing hard. Chris stroked down his head, down the knobs of his neck. Mark sighed, feeling himself go slightly vague.

"Mark," Chris said, his voice sounding both distant and very close. "What is it that you want?"

Mark reached up to start unzipping Chris's pants, but Chris's hand tightened in his hair. He stopped, confused.

"What do you want?" Chris asked again, his voice softer. "Tell me."

"I – I want to put my mouth on you," Mark said in a great rush. "I want to suck your cock."

"All right," Chris said. "Now. Politely."

Mark didn't say anything for a moment. Chris's grip grew a bit tighter and he choked out, "Please."

Immediately, Chris's hand relaxed and he resumed stroking Mark's neck. "You may."

Mark, in his haste, nearly forgot that Chris was wearing an expensive suit. He remembered just as he started to yank at the zipper. He immediately slowed his movements down, and Chris made a quiet, pleased sound.

Mark licked his lips as he eased Chris's trousers down. He could see the line of Chris's erection, obvious against the light grey briefs he wore. Mark pressed his face to it, breathing in. He felt slightly giddy, ridiculous. Chris's hand was sure on his neck and Mark fought against the urge to press into it.

Mark opened his mouth and exhaled hotly over Chris. Chris let out a soft sigh and stroked Mark's neck encouragingly. Emboldened, Mark drew his lips along the bulge, taking delight in how Chris jerked at that. His own cock twitched in his overpriced pants.

Mark drew down Chris's briefs and took in the sight. Chris was paler here, no sign of the freckles Mark knew he had on his back. Mark ran his hands up Chris's thighs before flicking out his tongue for his first taste.

Chris jerked and said something quiet under his breath. Mark licked again, this time trailing his tongue in a circle around the head. Chris's breathing was loud in the near-silence; Mark thought he could make him louder.

He opened his mouth and took Chris's cock between his lips. Chris let out a soft, wordless noise of exclamation and his hips stuttered forward a bit. Mark made himself relax so that he could take more of Chris in. Chris threaded his fingers through Mark's curls and thrust lightly, then a little bit harder when Mark made a pleased noise.

Mark's mind had gone pleasantly blank. All he could think about was the smell, the taste, the _feel_ of Chris surrounding him completely. He stuck his hand down the front of his dress pants to wrap a hand around his own cock, stroking roughly as he sucked hard on Chris, who was making these breathless noises. Chris let out a soft breath and came.

Mark almost choked, taken by surprise. He pulled back and some of Chris's come slid down his chin as he swallowed, licking his teeth. Chris swore softly and dropped to his knees in front of Mark. He pressed his thumb along the curve of Mark's lower lip, saying, "Mark."

"I need," Mark gasped, hand still working on his own cock, "I need –"

Chris shushed him and wrapped his free hand around Mark's hand. Mark gasped, his head starting to clear, and thrust into their joined hands. Chris pushed his thumb into Mark's mouth and Mark swirled his tongue around it, his stomach jumping.

"Come," Chris said softly, completely at ease. "Come on, Mark, come for me –"

Mark groaned around Chris's thumb and spilled all over their hands and his expensive trousers. Chris released his grip on the back of Mark's neck and Mark came back to himself slowly, blinking heavily. Chris stroked his check affectionately, smiling softly, and Mark felt himself turning red. He tried to pull away, embarrassed suddenly.

Chris said, "Mark, hey, Mark," and waited until Mark looked back at him. "It's all right," Chris said, leaning in to press their foreheads together. "I'm not – it's all right."

Mark kissed him on a strange impulse, and Chris responded eagerly, clutching at him. After a moment, Mark realized he was shaking, Chris's arms tight around him.

"Shh," Chris was saying, voice soft and soothing, "I've got you."

Mark finally found his voice and said raspily, "What the fuck just – what _was_ that?"

"Headspace," Chris replied promptly, though he looked slightly shaken. "It's all right, Mark, you know I wouldn't – this doesn't change anything, okay?"

Mark knew that Chris wouldn't use it against him, but he couldn't quite believe the assertion that nothing had changed. He didn't say anything, though, and let Chris undress him and lead him to the bed. Chris curled up behind him, face pressed to the back of Mark's neck, his breathing slowly evening out. Mark had a strange, light feeling in his chest that he belatedly realized was happiness. He put his hand over Chris's, which was resting on Mark's chest, and went to sleep, deciding that he would think about it in the morning.

 


End file.
